Darcy supplied one at once. “You have daughters of very different dispositions. They all must have presented different challenges in your parenting.”
Mrs. Bennet pressed her hand to her chest at once. “Indeed, they have, Mr. Darcy. Indeed, they have,” she said, with a sigh that seemed to gather into it the labours of many years. “No one who has not brought up five daughters can possibly conceive what it is to be a mother. The anxieties, the sacrifices, the constant concern for their health, their prospects, their happiness – why, I declare it has quite worn me down. If only we had a son. Now, when Mr. Bennet leaves this earth, it will be Mr. Collins who inherits.”
Darcy listened with grave attention. The estate seemed to be entailed. That was a grave situation. He looked at Mrs. Bennet with new understanding.
“Here, let me pour you some wine.” He offered.
“Thank you, good sir. I have been obliged to think of everything,” she continued, warming to her subject. “Who is to marry whom, who has a cough, who has danced too much, who has been overlooked at an assembly – there is no rest for a mother’s mind, sir. None at all. And yet one must bear it, for who else will do so?”
“You describe a considerable responsibility,” Darcy said, with perfect seriousness.
“Yes! And very little gratitude, I assure you,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “Young ladies do not always see how much depends upon their conduct, or how much their poor mother suffers on their account.”
Elizabeth bit her lip.
Darcy, however, inclined his head. “Your devotion to your family does you credit.”
Mrs. Bennet brightened visibly. “How kind of you to say so! Few gentlemen consider such things. I always say, a mother’s trials are quite invisible – unless one is considerate enough to look for them.”
Elizabeth glanced across the table and caught Darcy’s eye once more. This time, his expression held something new – not amusement, but a sort of thoughtful respect.
She had not intended that.
Lady Lucas, who had been listening with polite interest, now addressed Darcy with a mild, enquiring smile.
“You must forgive my curiosity, Mr. Darcy,” she said, “but I have often wondered at the closeness of your friendship with Mr. Bingley. He appears so very young beside you.”
Darcy received the observation without stiffness. “He is younger,” he replied. “By nearly five years.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Lucas exclaimed. “I had not imagined the difference so great.”
“It is enough to be remarked upon,” Darcy said. “We were introduced some years ago, upon the recommendation of a mutual acquaintance.”
Elizabeth’s attention sharpened at once.
“At first,” he continued, “our dispositions seemed little alike. Mr. Bingley’s spirits are naturally light; mine, I fear, have never beenso obliging. Yet we discovered, before long, a circumstance in common.”
Lady Lucas leant forward. “Indeed?”
“We had both lost our parents early,” Darcy said simply. “The experience forms a bond more readily than one expects.”
There was a brief pause.
Darcy went on, with a candour that surprised even himself. “Mr. Bingley came into a fortune without the habits required to manage it. He had generosity in abundance – far more than caution, in fact. I…” He stopped, then added more deliberately, “… had caution enough for two, but no great inclination toward cheerfulness.”
Elizabeth, listening from across the table, felt something shift.
“It suited us,” Darcy concluded. “He required a steadier influence. I required…” He hesitated, then allowed the smallest smile. “… a reminder that the world is not entirely burdensome.”
Lady Lucas nodded, evidently pleased. “That is a very handsome explanation.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I believe it has served us both.”
Elizabeth looked at him then – not covertly, but openly – and found his expression composed, unassuming, entirely without the air of condescension she had so readily ascribed to him before.
She had expected hauteur. She had not expected honesty.
Across the table, Bingley caught Darcy’s eye and smiled, entirely unconscious of having just been so accurately described.
